


an ache or a winter

by cxyst



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Uni AU, stupid cute drabble that i may or may not continue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxyst/pseuds/cxyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn calls him an onion, layered with contraditions, but louis thinks it’s all pretty simple. he is hard to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an ache or a winter

**Author's Note:**

> part one of a sad louis librarian harry uni au thing
> 
> title from a poem by dom (starseas)

louis is in his underwear. his duvet cover is cold under his bare legs, even though he’s been sitting on it for a while now. he stares at his wall and wonders if zayn would come in and check on him if he screamed. it isn’t really likely, because louis knows that when the sky gets like this, bitter and blue, zayn will put a smoke before anything else.

(sometimes when he thinks these things it hits him how sad their situation is. how sad it is that him and zayn never went anywhere. there were kisses, of course, and possibly two hand jobs, but eventually all of that fizzled out into what could only be described as a mutual friendzoning. they knew each other too well, maybe. let each other see too much of the painful, hidden things, too soon. and it’s annoying, especially in these moments when louis is feeling particularly lonely, to realise that he knows so much about zayn, and that they could be in love, so easily. they just couldn’t hold on.)

louis wishes he had something to keep him company like zayn has cigarettes. whenever he’s just been for a smoke, zayn comes back with eyes like melted caramel. and it’s a nice thought that something inanimate can provide so much solace, that something with only a tiny ember can share so much warmth.

there isn’t much warmth around louis. he’s not depressed, just realistic. he’s been slouching through his life, half-awake, for a long time. maybe it started with that one older boyfriend at the end of high school (he had a tongue like a brand and his words seared down to louis’ bones), or those two dropped degrees before he found art history. or maybe it started before all of that, with the step-dad who took it too far.

but he’s fine, he is. just realistic.

it starts raining outside, softly, like mother nature is trying to soothe that slow ache in louis’ chest. it works, in a way, because when he wakes up the next morning it’s after a rare full night of sleep.

 

it’s drizzled through the night, and it’s still raining when louis gets to the library, resigned to spending the day completing all the holiday reading he’s left to the last week of break. he stumbles through the heavy double doors with his fringe dripping into his eyes and his glasses fogged. he dumps his books clumsily on the first table he sees and starts cleaning the glasses with his shirt. his feet squelch in his old vans.

in his opinion the whole ‘drenched dork’ look isn’t his most attractive, but when he finally looks up, it’s to catch the appraising eye of the guy behind the counter. and he doesn’t look utterly disgusted with louis, which is good progress. in fact, he’s smiling a little, which is even better progress. and he’s got these soft curls and an even softer dimple and, wow, louis needs to stop before this flirty eye contact becomes a thing. (but even as he looks away, he knows it already has).

he feels the guy watching him as he sits down, opens up his first book. he can see the rain sliding down the window panes out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise the library is still and quiet. the books and the thick carpet make it smell gentle, delicate, like louis’ grandmother or that vintage record store he and zayn found in the back of london. it’s warm where he’s put himself, beside the radiator and under the cute librarian’s gaze. he feels pleasantly goosebumpy.

he’s just finished the first page of ‘behind the picture: art and evidence of the italian renaissance’ (but god, don’t test him on it), when he hears a little cough from the counter.

the librarian guy looks like he’s trying to hide a smile. he pushes his hair back from his eyes so it sticks up a little, and that really shouldn’t look as pretty as it does. ‘sorry to interrupt,’ he says, hushed, like he wants to be careful with the silence. ‘but d’you want some tea?’

louis’ blinks. he rubs his eye under his glasses. he’s never been to a library that offered free beverages before. ‘uh, i-’

‘’m just making myself some,’ the guy interrupts, cheeks pink, big hands splayed out around what looks like an erotica novel. ‘and, well, i’m not one to deny a cute guy a cuppa when they’re on offer.’

there’s a beat of silence in which louis raises his eyebrows, trying to play the guy a little. his game is ruined by the way his lips pull up at the corners; he wonders when he lost control of his own facial muscles. he tries to force the smile down, but there’s something warm going on in his chest, making it feel kind of nice to lose control a little. ‘yeah, i’d love one,’ he says finally. he pushes his fringe back, bites his lip.

it’s flattering to watch the way the guy’s fingers tighten around the book he’s holding. he nods, ‘okay,’ almost eager, and heads off into a back room.

and isn’t he just fucking adorable.

louis hasn’t done adorable before. he’s had this thing going on for a few years where he lets other people have the upper hand. like the realism, he doesn’t know exactly when it started, but he can’t seem to help it. he dates witty guys, sharp guys, and it’s awful because he used to be able to keep up with them. he used to have a guard up, something to keep his heart safe. now things break in; he is easy to hurt. it’s made worse because he has never been the type to let anyone take care of him - he was the eldest child, the second parent, sometimes - and that’s one thing that hasn’t changed. he hurts in silence, convinces himself that he doesn’t need anyone to lean on, and eventually pushes people away.

zayn calls him an onion, layered with contraditions, but louis thinks it’s all pretty simple. he is hard to love.

so he’s never done adorable. adorable people are too soft, too patient. louis would leach their warmth.

but of course librarian guy doesn’t know any of this. he strolls back out with two cups of tea, smile still clinging to his mouth, like he thinks louis is a sure thing already. louis takes a proper look at him, bitter thoughts drumming in the back of his mind like the rain outside. the guy’s wearing ripped black jeans and a flannel with the top three buttons undone, and he’s got so many tattoos that louis can’t believe he didn’t register them before. he definitely doesn’t look like the librarian type. more like a musician, or some kind of grungey construction worker. it’s kind of hot, but it doesn’t really fit with louis’ original idea of his personality.

he thinks maybe he isn’t the only one with layers.

'there you go,' the guy says, setting one of the cups down. he digs a sugar packet out of his back pocket and places it very carefully on top of louis' book.

it’s all very fucking cute and louis doesn’t want to go here but of course he does anyway.

'thanks. 'm louis.'

and louis could have just handed him a million pounds, he looks so delighted.

‘harry,’ he grins, pressing his legs together as he straightens up. ‘nice to meet you.’


End file.
